


The Mermaid of Mermaid Quay

by Emma



Series: The Homecoming Universe [4]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-24
Updated: 2010-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspector Andrew Davidson is on the trail of a killer that might not be human.</p><p>This is the "how Andy joined Torchwood" story. It takes places about eight years or so before <em>Homecoming</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"So, Andy, what's this about mermaids, then?"

 

Andy Davidson closed his eyes and counted to ten before turning to face his boss. Chief Inspector Theodore Keightley had reached his position by kissing as much official arse as he had needed to and marrying old Cardiff money. He was a big, jowly man in his mid-fifties, and his midsection was starting to show evidence of his indulgence in bacon butties and scones with clotted cream.

 

Keightley like to prove his camaraderie with the troops by making heavy-handed jokes at their expense. Andy, because of his Torchwood connections, got all the "spooky-do" cracks. In the last couple of months there had been a spate of reports of soaking wet naked women being seen walking out of the Taff, but since most of them had been made by blokes so pissed that they couldn't find their own eyes without medical aid, nobody had paid much attention. Nobody except Keightley, who seemed to find great pleasure in twitting Andy about it.

 

"I have no idea, Mr. Keightley. There are no mermaids in Wales."

 

"No? And what about those women living under the river people are always going on about?"

 

"The Gwragedd Annwn aren't mermaids, Mr. Keightley. They're elf dames, and they have no interest in drowning sailors. Or Cardiff drunks, for that matter."

 

Knightley chuckled. "Let's keep it that way. The South Wales constabulary has no use for the supernatural."

 

As if summoned by Andy's guardian angel, Lily Myles, the constable holding down the night desk, stuck her head into the room. "Andy, they're asking for assistance at that new club in Mermaid Quay. Driftwood? Some bloke dropped dead on the dance floor."

 

"They don't need an inspector for that!" blustered Keightley, who seemed to dread being told it was his job.

 

"It's likely a simple matter, sir," said Andy. "You go ahead and get home. I can handle it."

 

Keightley beat a hasty exit. Lily marched on Andy, hands on hips.

 

"Why do you let him push off all his work on you, Andy?"

 

"Lily, I've got nothing waiting for me but an empty flat. Besides" he gave her what he considered to be his best Jack Harkness grin. "The last time we let him investigate anything he cocked it up so much we ended up dredging the river for a guy who was living with a wife and two kids in Aberaeron."

 

He left her giggling and made his way down to the car park, where a young constable waited at the wheel of an official car. Andy hated to be driven, but he had learned not to argue with custom.

 

It was a short drive to Mermaid Quay. The glitzy bayside complex had undergone several transformations since its first opening. Currently it was back to being the in place for doing all the fun weekend things, like pulling total strangers and getting blind drunk. The most in of in places in Mermaid Quay was Driftwood, a three-story members-only club floating on the bay on its own pier. Someone dropping dead on the dance floor constituted a major social faux-pas.

 

The club's exterior was meant to discourage the working classes from gawking at their betters. Discreet lighting illuminated the simulated gangplank leading to the pier, but left the surrounding area in shadow. Two oversized young men with no sense of humor made sure guests were safe from pick pockets and autograph hunters alike.

 

When Andy entered the building he found two constables trying to keep back a mob of some of the best names in Cardiff, all of whom had found pressing reasons for being elsewhere. His appearance merely redirected it. He waited until the first explosion of noise subsided.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm inspector Andrew Davidson. Let's get ourselves sorted out and you can be on your way." He pointed to one of the constables. "That's constable Allen. If you weren't on the dance floor, please give him your name and address and we will contact you later if we need you. If you were on the dance floor, please wait with constable Lee over there and I will be with you as soon as I can."

 

As he disengaged himself, a tall red-head approached him. She was the kind of woman the word stunning had been invented to describe. Mile-high legs in skyscraper heels, a body with more curves than a mountain road in a forest green slip that managed to remain legal by heroic effort, shoulder-length curls framing a face of huge green eyes and pouty red lips. Andy was long past the drooling, tongue-tied teenage stage, but he still had to swallow a little spit.

 

"Inspector Davidson, I'm Marie Kelly, the owner."

 

She had a soft Irish brogue that went perfectly with the pouty lips.

 

"Miss Kelly."

 

"You're a trusting man, inspector. Do you know how many people in this crowd would rather not be associated with a police case?"

"We Welsh are basically orderly and law-abiding, Miss Kelly. I'll bet my next pay-packet that most of the people that were on that dance floor will honestly say so."

 

"Most. And the rest?"

 

"For those we have the tapes off your security cameras."

 

She laughed. "Points to you, Inspector. This way."

 

She led him past an area furnished as the most expensive kind of parlor, then up a flight of stairs to the main bar. Andy could see other, smaller platforms arranged for eating or conversation. Another, longer flight of stairs led down to a wide, semicircular dance floor with wide windows to the bay on one side and a gigantic water tank on the other.

 

"Whoa," Andy said. "I read about it in the papers but I wasn't sure I believed it."

 

The tank held a full-size reef. Sea plants grew in abundance and provided habitat for brightly colored fish and crustaceans. At strategic places were platforms where acrobats and dancers would perform throughout the evening.

 

"Like my mermaid tank, inspector?"

 

"Spectacular."

 

"A conceit, but it makes us unique. Come back some evening after this is all over. I think you would enjoy the show."

 

"Thank you. I might take you up on that." His attention was already shifting to the small group clustered around the sheet-covered body on the dance floor. "Do you know who the poor gentleman was?"

 

"His name was Ieuan Jones. Very well known in certain circles as an extremely trustworthy business manager. He was a regular customer. Every Friday as 9:30 or so, like clockwork. I was surprised when he showed up so early tonight."

 

"Did you notice anything different?"

 

"He looked a bit pale and shaky, as if he were coming down with a bad case of influenza. Trina showed him to his favorite table" she pointed to one of the alcoves set into the wall around the dance floor "and I came down to say hello. He didn't seem to know who I was. A man I've had dinner with! Am I forgettable, inspector?"

 

"You are eminently not forgettable, Miss Kelly."

 

"And yet he certainly did not remember me." She shrugged. "He ordered dinner, but didn't eat much of it. I had the feeling he didn't even know what he had ordered. About half-way through the meal, he got up and started across the dance floor to the gents. Suddenly he seemed to go into convulsions and collapsed. He was clearly dead by the time I reached him. I called the police."

 

Andy looked down at Ieuan Jones. Dinah McClarry, the forensic specialist, nodded to him then pulled the sheet off the body. Andy swallowed hard. The man on the floor was ancient. He looked older than Andy's great-grandfather, who had died at one hundred and five, wispy white hair, liverish skin, toothless gums, and all. He looked at Marie Kelly incredulously.

 

"This man came clubbing every Friday?"

 

"You don't understand, inspector" she said. "Mr. Jones was forty-three years old."

 

Buggering hell, Andy thought disconsolately. He had told Keightley that this was going to be a simple matter.


	2. Chapter 2

The next afternoon Andy decided to go directly to Jones's office. He had tracked down the man's secretary and asked her to meet him there. The station was chancy. Keightley would have been informed of the details of the case, and Andy was not in the mood to handle either the Chief Inspector's bad behaviour or his unsubtle hints about calling Jack Harkness.

Andy was perfectly aware that he would have to involve Torchwood at some point. Unless the scientific types at Forensic Services could come up with a logical – and by logical Andy meant human – explanation for Jones's transformation, the whole thing was out of his hands. However, until the results landed on his desk, he had a case and he meant to do his job.

Ieuan Jones Ltd. was located in one of the more nondescript office blocks in Cardiff, although in a good location and boasting excellent security. The office itself was small, but everything, from the old rugs to the cut glass decanters on the sideboard, was first class. The only occupant at the moment was a middle-aged lady who sat behind an elegant desk, hands folded on her lap, staring dazedly into space.

"Ma'am, I'm inspector Davidson. I'm here about Mr. Jones's death."

She seemed to shake herself loose. "I saw it in the papers this morning. I didn't know what to do. I'm Mrs. Blaven."

"Yes, ma'am. You are exactly the person we need." Andy said soothingly. "Someone such as yourself, in Mr. Jones's confidence, would be able to tell us if there's been anything odd happening lately."

"Odd?" she laughed without much humor. "Everything has been odd lately, inspector. I have worked for Mr. Jones ever since he set up his own office fourteen years ago. He has been a perfectly satisfactory employer. Considerate, generous…after hearing horror stories from some of my friends, I was very satisfied, even a little smug, in my situation."

She jumped up and walked over to the very expensive coffee machine hissing away discreetly in one corner. She started preparing two cups without even asking. In Andy's experience, people going about their regular business were more likely to spill out things that they wouldn't have told for all the tea in China in an interrogation room, so he simply waited quietly.

"Then about two months ago, everything changed." She handed him a cup. "He started coming in late or not at all. He kept forgetting to pay me my salary so he handed me the cheque book and told me to help myself. He started frequenting some very expensive restaurants and clubs instead of his usual places… I wasn't snooping, Inspector, but I do reconcile the bills at the end of the month, and there was no escaping it. Worse, clients were becoming most unhappy. He didn't seem to care! Then one day he brought her here, and I knew."

Andy took a sip of his coffee, then leaned forward confidingly. "You knew…?"

"Common little tart, Inspector. Not much to look at, but she certainly knew how to manipulate him. He drew out a large amount from one of the general business accounts and they walked off arm in arm." She frowned. "Strange, that. He seemed very happy, but he didn't look it, if you take my meaning."

"Like he was coming down with the flu?"

"That's it, exactly! Ooooh… do you think she was slipping him drugs or something?"

Andy drew himself up and tried to look very official. "I am afraid I cannot comment at this time, ma'am. It's an ongoing investigation." He leaned in, again. "However, I can say you have been very helpful indeed. One or two more things and I'll be out of your way. You are going to be very busy, I'm afraid, trying to sort out this mess."

She preened a little under his admiring gaze. "Indeed inspector. Anything I can do to help."

"You said Mr. Jones had stopped going to his usual places. What were those?"

"Well, he would have lunch regularly at Annie's, do you know it?" At Andy's nod, she continued. "And sometimes a small drink at the Swan on his way home. He used to say, Mrs. Blaven, the worst thing a money manager can do is to try to match the lifestyle of his clients."

"Quite rightly so. I'm sure you could tell some stories! One more thing. The girl. What did she look like?"

"Nothing much, really. A slip of a thing, blonde out of a bottle, and wearing most unsuitable clothes. Looked down her pert little nose at everything and everyone as if she were better than the rest of us. Cheap perfume, too. I was glad to have her out of here, let me tell you."

Andy set down the cup and stood up. "Mrs. Blaven, you have been most helpful. Thank you for your time, ma'am. I'll see myself out."

As he stepped onto the lift, his phone rang. One glance at the number had him biting his knuckle nervously. "Hello Dinah. Anything interesting?"

"Your Mr. Jones died of massive organ failure," said the forensics specialist. "Everything went at once. No signs of any sort of violence."

"So it's a natural death?"

"Andy," she said with exaggerated patience, "there's nothing natural about a forty-two year old man who turns ninety-seven or so in the space of an hour."

"Could it have been a drug?"

"If it was, it's nothing I've ever encountered. I sent samples off to the lab just in case, but I'm not holding out any hopes… hold on," she was off the line for a moment. "Message for you from Lily. Stay away from the office. Keightley's looking for you and he's not happy."

"My thanks to both of you. I'll grab a bit of lunch, then, and do some nosing about before I head back."

Leaving the building, he cast a jaundiced eye toward the sky, but as it remained resolutely blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds, he decided to walk. Annie's was a local place, away from the tourist traps and the glitzy clubs. It was the kind of place where people knew a great deal about one another, and what they didn't know, they could make a good guess at. The place was nearly empty when he got there; too late for lunch and a bit too early for tea. The girl behind the counter was more than willing to chat.

"Yeah, he was a regular until a couple of months ago. Then nothing, well, except for the one time when he brought his little birdie and wasn't that a right mess."

"What did she look like?"

"Like something that crawled out of the gutter, if you ask me. And the smell! Some girls never learn to use perfume. He didn't seem to mind it, though."

"Did you get her name?"

"Hon, this place is packed most nights. I wasn't paying attention to anything but orders." She snapped her fingers. "Tad Will might. He's a friend of Mr. Jones, they used to play chess together."

She pointed Andy to an old man with a huge head of white hair sitting at one of the outdoor tables. Andy walked up to him and introduced himself.

"You're here about Ieuan, then. Sit down, sit down. I told that boy she was trouble, but he didn't listen."

"You know who she is?"

"Not by name, but I'd seen her before. She was at the Chandler and Bells with Tim Gardiner a few weeks before she showed up here with Ieuan. Cheap floozy. Trouble, I told Tim, but he, he was crazy about her."

"Where can I find this Tim Gardiner, then?"

"That's just it. Nobody's seen him. Supposedly moved back to London. He was a hard-working, responsible man, for all that he's English, and then he ups and decamps without a by your leave? Not bloody likely, I say. Something's happened to that boy. Something bad."


	3. Chapter 3

Andy hung up the phone and stared at his notes. Timothy Gardiner, originally from London, plumber, a man of good personal and professional reputation, had walked out of his life suddenly, without giving either clients or friends a single word of warning.

 

"Could have knocked me down with a feather," Gardiner's landlady had said, "when Robbie Duane showed up to pack up the flat, but he had the keys and a note and everything." When Andy asked about Gardiner's health she told him that "poor Tim" had caught a cold he couldn't seem to shake for weeks.

 

Tracking down Robbie Duane had been easy enough. The dumb git had been in trouble with the law since he had stolen his first bike at the age of twelve, mostly for petty, stupid things. The file was an inch thick and growing.

 

"You know something, my lad," Andy muttered, "and you're going to tell me."

 

He grabbed his coat and made his way to the corridor that led to the old car park, trying to make a quiet unnoticed exit. Unfortunately he wasn't fast enough.

 

"Davidson!"

 

Andy muttered a few obscenities under his breath. "'Yes, sir?"

 

"What the bloody hell have you been doing all day?"

 

"Speaking to a few people about Mr. Jones, sir."

 

"Why the bloody hell are you wasting my time with that?" Keightley bellowed. His eyes were bloodshot and tremors shook his huge frame. "We have more important things to do. This is Torchwood's problem, not ours!"

 

Andy wondered idly how long the grand poobahs upstairs could continue to ignore the evidence of Keightley's alcoholism.

"Well, sir, I'll probably be meeting with Captain Harkness today or tomorrow, and you know how he gets. Better to have some answers at hand or he'll pitch a hissy-fit. We don't want him complaining to his London friends, do we?" Privately, Andy doubted Jack Harkness had ever spared the London authorities a single thought, but Keightley moved in a world of connections and influence and could not conceive of any other. "This way I can turn it all over to him clean and simple."

 

"Very well, Davidson," proclaimed Keightley with the grandiosity of the very drunk. "Carry on, then."

 

Andy did not wait to be told twice. To his great satisfaction, there were no constables waiting in the car park, so he was able to requisition a car and drive himself.

 

Robbie Duane lived in a grimy bed-sit in the basement of his parents' home. The place stunk of decomposing Chinese takeaway and old sweat, and the dust hadn't been shifted in years. Duane was a skinny, unkempt loudmouth, but his eyes were full of terror.

 

"He said he was tired of living in this nowhere town and he was going back home. He gave me sixty quid to pack up his place and send the lot on. What's the big deal? A bloke just wants to leave, is that a crime now?"

 

"It's like this, Robbie," Andy said. "I have London cops looking for Tim, and I've got people here in Cardiff talking to all the lorry companies…"

 

"I didn't hire a company!" Robbie sounded desperate. "I got a mate with a van, he drove it up."

 

"All right. Give me the mate's name and the address he took the stuff to in London and we're quits." Andy smiled. "If I can't find Tim, you're going to jail, Robbie, and that's that."

 

"You can't charge me without a body!"

 

"See, that's what comes from watching too many American cop shows, Robbie. I don't have to charge you with murder. All I have to do is charge you with withholding evidence and fling you into a cell at Her Majesty's pleasure." He smiled again. "Tough bird, Her Majesty. You could get to be a very, very old man before you see daylight again, Robbie."

 

Duane crumpled into the ratty old sofa that obviously doubled as his bed. "Oh God. Please don't. Please don't. My mam would kill me."

 

"Then tell me what happened to Tim!"

 

"We were at his place, watching footie on his telly," Duane pointed at the small television set in one corner, "and Tim started shaking and his face got all old and creepy, and then he was dead, and I thought, he's dead, he's not going to need all this stuff anymore, so I rolled him up in his old rug and drove him down to St. David's, on the river, the old abandoned church? I wanted to be respectful, see?"

 

"And then you went back to his place and robbed a dead man." Andy shook his head. "You're a bloody mess, aren't you, Robbie?"

 

"Please don't send me to jail! Please!"

 

"And on top of it all, you're a gullible little berk." Andy sighed. "This is what we're going to do, Robbie. You're going to sit here and wait for the constables, and you're going to take them to where you left Tim's body. And don't run, Robbie. Don't make me come looking for you."

 

He left Duane sniveling into a pillow. As he stepped out into the cool, rain-laden air, he took a deep breath to clear the stench from his nostrils. Sometimes, even after ten years, the things people did to one another still sickened him.

 

He called the station and arranged to have some uniforms pick up Robbie and drive him to St. David's. Andy hated to admit it, but even if they found Tim Gardiner's body he had nothing more to go on. Two men, dead under similar and rather strange circumstances, with nothing in common except a girl three observers described as a cheap tart. Finding her was next to impossible; it wasn't as if there was a shortage of those in Cardiff.

 

He was debating what to do next when his phone rang. It was Lily.

 

"Andy, you got a call from a William Tynie. He says he thinks he's found the girl."

 

"I don't know any… hold on, Tad Will. Did he say who she was?"

 

"He didn't. He said you should meet him at Mermaid Quay, near Driftwood."

 

"Shit. Shit. Driftwood is closed on Sundays. The place is deserted."

 

He drove at breakneck speed, siren blaring. It was a light night for crowds at the Quay, and he was able to find parking close to the club. He ran all the way to the pier. The place was empty except for a few people looking for privacy in the shadows on the other side of the gangplank.

 

Andy approached a group who seemed to be in the middle of a riotous drinking game.

 

"Excuse me. Did you happen to notice an older gentleman walking around here earlier? Tall, big head of white hair? It's my Tad, he's getting a little disoriented and tends to wander off."

 

"Yeah, I saw him," one of the girls said. "You don't need to worry, though. There was a girl looking after him. He looked all right, maybe just a little dizzy. They went down there. She was saying something about fresh air."

 

"Thanks," Andy said as he started down the steps she had pointed out. At the bottom, a double chain was slung between two posts and a "STAFF ONLY BEYOND THIS POINT" sign hung from it.

 

The steps led to the underside of the pier. Andy turned on his torch. There was a remarkable amount of light being reflected by the water but it didn't reach into corners or behind the concrete pilings. He swept the beam of light from side to side. On the second pass he saw that the half-submerged bundle he had taken for a pile of seaweed was moving.

 

Tad Will lay face down on the rocks, his legs trailing uselessly in the water. Blood made a halo around his head and neck. As Andy got closer, he realized that what he had taken to be movement was just an illusion created by the waves as they washed back and forth across the body.

 

Andy turned the body over. Tynie's pockets were empty, but there was something hard tucked between his shirt and jacket. Andy reached in and pulled out a rather crushed photograph. By the light of the torch he could see it was a postcard of the Driftwood reef. Four girls and two men were floating about in suggestive poses.

 

As he searched the body, he caught a whiff of something in Tynie's clothes. He leaned down and sniffed. Cheap perfume, strong enough to overcome the smell of salt water.

 

Andy stood up. He had two phone calls to make. Of the two, he judged one to be much more important than the other. He pulled out his phone and pressed a single key.

 

A cheerful American voice answered at the first ring. "Hey, Andy."

 

"Jack. We need to talk."


	4. Chapter 4

The next day turned up damp and dreary, with heavy squalls sweeping in from the bay at irregular intervals. Andy, ensconced in a very comfortable armchair and drinking tea made exactly the way he liked it, watched contentedly as rain lashed the high arched window that looked out over a small, pretty square.

 

Not so long ago, if someone had told him that some day he would be sitting in Jack Harkness's house, drinking tea and listening to the man himself prepare lunch, he would have laughed himself stupid. For a long time he had resented the American for taking Gwen away from the force and changing her into something unrecognizable. Even after he had figured out exactly what it was Torchwood did, and why, he had kept his distance from its leader.

 

It had been Jack who had changed the situation. Andy's disastrous marriage and even more disastrous divorce had launched him into a self-destructive spiral he couldn't seem to break. One night, as he was getting ready for another round of too much booze and bad sex, there had been a knock on his door.

 

"Hey, Andy," Jack grinned suggestively as he leaned against the door jamb. "I hear you're having a hard time figuring out the whole party thing, so I'm here to give you a hand."

 

The sight of Jack Harkness wearing tight jeans, a blue polo shirt, and a short leather jacket that probably cost six months of Andy's salary left Andy so gobsmacked that he followed the captain without question or complaint.

 

The next three days had been the wildest of Andy's life. Jack seemed to have no limits or boundaries and an amazing ability to make it all seem innocent and joyful rather than tawdry. A willing pupil, Andy had done things he would have had to arrest himself for in the ordinary course of business, and had enjoyed every minute of it.

 

At some point during that long weekend he had found himself making an absolutely insane move. Even Jack's suddenly serious _are you sure, Andy?_ couldn't deter him. That night Andy had learned amazing things about the way his own body worked, and what could happen when he kicked all his inhibitions out the window. He had also finally, truly, completely understood something Ianto Jones had said one night when exhaustion and too many beers had prompted Andy to ask the question: _I'm not homosexual, Andy. I'm Jack-sexual_.

 

Come Monday morning Andy had woken up in his own bed, a protein drink and a note on his bedside table: _the next time you feel the urge to destroy your life, call me first_. He had never called. Sure, he had been tempted a couple of times, and he knew that if he did, Jack would take him to bed and do his best to make him happy. But there was something about Jack that made Andy hesitate. He doubted that Jack even realized it, but underneath all the ebullient bravado, Jack was… waiting. And Andy had a pretty good idea who he was waiting for.

 

Jack had never mentioned those three days, but the offer stood between them, unvoiced but acknowledged. Somehow knowing he had a safety net had allowed Andy to pick up the pieces and move on with his life. And Jack had become a friend.

 

"Hey. You're miles away."

 

"Just trying to work out some things." Andy looked at the tray Jack was carrying. "Wow. If people knew you could cook, they'd be knocking down your door."

 

Jack gave him one of his patented sexy grins. "They're knocking down my door anyway, but all they seem to want is my super secret list of good takeaway places. Eat up, skinny, and tell me what brings you to Torchwood."

 

Andy spooned up some of the French onion soup. "Good. Do you know of any… thing… that could kill a healthy young man of old age in a few weeks?"

 

"I know of several species, both sentient and non-sentient, and one or two chemical compounds that could have that effect. Details, Andy, details." Jack listened as Andy spoke. When the policeman finished, he smiled. "You're very good at this, you know. One question. Have there been reports of people seeing women swimming in the river, or coming out of the river, at odd times?"

 

"Bloody hell."

 

"I'll take that as a yes." Jack leaned back, sipping his wine. "We have a tzax'unu on our hands, Andy."

 

"A what?"

 

"A tzax'unu. Nobody knows much about them. Even the name is actually a Common Trade Language version of the name given to them by the Eiuli traders who first encountered them. It means Memory Thief."

 

"That's… disturbing."

 

"The Eiuli agreed with you. They have a strong oral tradition, and the idea of a species that could steal memories gave them the heebie-jeebies. They slapped a universal quarantine on the tzax'unu planet and high-tailed it out of the system." Jack shrugged. "For the most part it worked."

 

"For the most part?"

 

"It seems the tzax'unu do have something to trade. Youth, stamina, sexual energy, reckless courage. Some people see those as an advantage, no matter how they get them."

 

"I don't understand."

 

"In their natural environment, tzax'unu hunt by taking on the appearance of a female of the hunted species." Jack raised his hand to forestall the question. "Nobody really knows why. Best guess is that they use pheromones to confuse the male's physiological response to being hunted. The problem is that the result can be a little hit-and-miss. The males of the majority of species tend to be larger than the females and they tend to fight back at some point. On the other hand, if a tzax'unu can create a symbiotic relationship with someone of another species, it can use them to siphon off its victim's energy without having to work for it. In return, it can feed some of the energy back to its symbiont. The feedback kicks the symbiont's body into hormonal overdrive and fine-tunes everything. It's said to be a hell of a rush."

 

"Duw."

 

"There's a catch, though. The link is not stable. The more a tzax'unu feeds the more it wants to feed, and the more energy the symbiont gets the more it craves. It makes them very dangerous."

 

"Yeah," Andy said, "I can see how it would. Is there any way to identify the whatchacallit, the symbiont?"

 

"Yes. They smell. People say it's like rotting vegetation or bad perfume. It seems to be a side effect of the link. The stronger the smell the more unstable the link is getting and the more urgent the need to feed."

 

"God almighty. What are you going to do?"

 

Jack grinned mischievously. "Well, my first step will be to deputize you."

 

"Huh?"

 

"Andy, even with Torchwood at full strength, we're stretched to the limit. The Rift was badly destabilized when the Daleks moved the Earth. We're still dealing with the fallout even after all these years. You have been working the case, and you are really very good at what you do."

 

"Keightley will have a breakdown."

 

"That might be an added advantage." Jack took a small package off a side table. "Phone with direct link to the Hub computer. A little improvement of our own on Bluetooth technology, you'll figure out as you go. I.D. Stun gun." At Andy's puzzled look he explained. "Tzax'unu have a very strong electromagnetic field and disrupting it causes real damage. Now. Consider yourself a member of Torchwood for the duration."

 

Andy did not hesitate. He took the package. "All right. I'd better get going, then. Thanks for lunch."

 

"My pleasure. And remember, the job can become permanent any time you want."

 

As he arranged the various items in his pockets, Andy pointed at the fireplace.

 

"Didn't tell you earlier, but I like the new art."

 

Above the mantel hung a stunning black-and-white print, beautifully framed. It showed a view of the Grand Canal in Venice as a storm approached the city.

 

"Me too, Andy. Me too."


	5. Chapter 5

In daylight, Driftwood had that faintly dissolute look that Andy had come to associate with places that came alive at night: slatternly and more than just a little hard. He bet himself five quid that Miss Marie Kelly was not the sort to tolerate any lowering of standards. He promptly won his bet when he walked into the club: an army of ladies in white aprons and marigolds were engaged in scrubbing down the place top to bottom.

 

"Inspector." The stunning Miss Kelly came out of a door neatly hidden behind a screen on which grew a profusion of orchids. "How may I help you?"

 

He shook the outstretched hand. "Andy, please."

 

Today, miss Kelly was wearing a simple grey wool dress cinched around the waist by a thin red belt, and a pair of matching red pumps. Andy briefly wondered what it would be like to take it all off her.

 

"Then it's Marie." Her smile told Andy she knew exactly what he was thinking. "Were you looking for me?"

 

"I'm afraid not. Well, actually yes. Um…" He shook his head sheepishly and was rewarded by a little giggle. "Let me try again."

 

"Let's have some tea," she tucked her arm through his and pulled him along. "And we can discuss whatever it is."

 

The office hidden behind the orchids was as neat and trim as she was. She motioned him to a small seating area beneath the window and went to the sideboard to pour.

 

"I have heard about last night's incident, if that's what you're here to discuss," she said. "You were here."

 

"Yes. There was another man who died in similar circumstances to Mr. Jones. The only thing they had in common was being seen with the same girl. The man who died last night thought he could identify her."

 

She placed the cups on the table in front of the sofa and sat down next to him. "Did he?"

 

"I got here too late. All I found was this."

 

He took out the publicity photo. It showed the reef during a performance. In the three lower platforms girls in rather skimpy mermaid costumes struck sexy poses, while above them two young men seemed to be going through the underwater equivalent of a trapeze act.

 

"And you think of the girls in the photo is the one you're looking for?"

 

"There's a good chance, yes."

 

"All right. I think I can help narrow your search." She tapped the photo. "This one, Alice, can't be your girl. She's Australian, and she sounds it. People would have remarked on it."

 

"Unless she can fake the accent."

 

"My dear man, Alice Wright doesn't have two brain cells to rub together. Cheerful, hard working, and a great athlete, yes. Acting ability of that caliber? No."

 

"Very well, then. What about the other two?"

 

She tapped the photo again. "Ellie Travers. Working her way through University. Marine biology. She helps Alan maintain the reef." At his questioning gesture, she added, "Alan's my cousin. Another marine biology student."

 

"Last one."

 

"Hannah. Applegate, of all things. Sexy little minx, plays a little too hard, but never in the workplace. My sources tell me all the guys have asked and got turned down flat. She has the worst taste in clothes I've ever seen."

 

"And perfume?"

 

"How did you know? Really, really awful stuff. Everyone can always tell when she's going on a date because she douses herself with it." She made a face. "That doesn't make her a killer. In fact, she couldn't be your killer, at least in Mr. Jones's case. She was performing the whole time and never went near him."

 

"I think that whatever was done to Jones and Gardiner was done long before they collapsed. Do you have Hannah's address?"

 

"Sure." She walked to her desk and tapped a few commands on the laptop. "But she'll be here in a few minutes. Rehearsals start promptly at four. Here's the address."

 

Andy looked at the screen.

 

"You're definitely not a local." He smiled at her puzzled frown. "If you were, you'd know that street ends about a hundred numbers short of that address. According to Miss Applegate, she lives somewhere in the middle of the Taff. How did she get the job?"

 

"Peter hired her. He choreographs the shows and does some of the acrobatics." She glanced at her watch. "He's probably practicing now."

 

Andy started for the door but she grabbed his arm. "This way. It's faster."

 

She led him to a door on the other side of the room. At a slight push it opened to reveal a small elevator.

 

"So this is how you manage wearing those skyscraper heels all night."

 

"Oh, the shoes are comfortable enough. They had better be, considering how much they cost me. This is more of a… convenience. It's much harder to kiss when you're trying to negotiate stairs."

 

The invitation came through loud and clear. Andy took all of forty-five seconds to run through all the possible objections, then simply pulled her to him and accepted.

 

"Miss Kelly. Sexy miss Kelly. Delectable miss Kelly. I've been wanting to do this" he took her lower lip between his teeth and sucked gently "since the first time I saw you."

 

"Good," she whispered, "because I've been wanting to do this since the first time I saw you."

 

She cradled the back of his head between her palms and kissed him. Their tongues stroked lazily as they explored each other's mouths. Andy could swear he tasted strawberries and cream along with tea, and something else, something salty and hot, like the blood that trickled into your mouth when you bit your lip. He ran his hands up and down her back lightly and felt her shiver.

 

"Now this," he said, bringing up her hand to press soft kisses along the knuckles and into the palm, "I wasn't expecting."

 

"You must have noticed I was interested."

 

'I noticed that you noticed that I was interested." He chuckled. "I wouldn't have presumed to think you would be."

 

"Why not? You're an attractive man and an honorable one. Women are always interested in men like you." She took a nip at his earlobe. "Intelligent ones, anyway."

 

This time his laugh was stronger, more confident. "And how do you know I'm an honorable man? Does it show?"

 

"Yes, it does," she said firmly, "but I also… snooped a bit. I don't offer invitations easily. I wanted to make sure."

 

"Cautious. I like it. Can I ask you a question?"

 

"Sure."

 

"Why isn't the elevator moving?"

 

She reached behind him and pressed a button. He laughed again and pulled her into a bear hug. She giggled against his shoulder, then lifted her lips to his for another kiss.

 

"Later," Andy said regretfully as the elevator doors opened. "We'll take lots of time later."

 

The dance floor was in shadows. The only light came from the reef tank, where a man was cart-wheeling lazily from platform to platform. Once in a while he would dip behind a rock or swim briefly out of sight; Andy realized there must be air tanks hidden from view.

 

Marie knocked on the glass to get the man's attention, then made an up-and-out motion. He nodded and swam upwards and out of sight, then reappeared from a small door next to the tank, towelling himself off.

 

"Peter, this is inspector Davidson. He wants to ask you a few questions about Hannah."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"How did you come to hire her?"

 

"One of the other girls, Lara, buggered off without giving notice. I was going out of my mind trying to figure out what to do when Hannah walked in. Good swimmer, absolutely fearless, looked great in the costume. Hired her on the spot."

 

"I see." Andy looked at Marie. "I think I'll wait until rehearsals and talk to her then."

 

"She won't be here for rehearsals," Pete said. "She called earlier, said she has a really bad toothache and the dentist's agreed to see her. I asked her if she needed anything, but she said no, Alan was helping her out. Funny that. She's never given any of the guys here the time of day, and this is the second time she's gone off with Alan."


	6. Chapter 6

"Hannah Applegate," Lily said as she flipped through her notebook, "was born and raised in Selsey. She was a sickly sort who barely stepped out of her house, except for taking long walks on the beach. The local constable described her, and I quote, as pale, dumpy, and unremarkable. Not exactly the type that jumps into a water tank wearing next to nothing and gets herself noticed by young and not so young men."

 

"So how did she come to leave Selsey? Because I'm assuming she's no longer there."

 

"You assume correctly. An old friend of the family left her a nice little pile. As soon as she had her hands on it, she shook the sand off her soles. She kept close to the water, though. Seems to have been doing a circuit of seaside towns, staying a few months to a year then moving on." Lily helped herself to a biscuit from the plate in front of Andy. "So far, I've talked to four different constables and the story is always the same. There are one or two unexplained deaths or disappearances in every place she's visited."

 

"That's it, then."

 

After speaking to Peter, Andy had returned to the station and had set in motion a number of enquiries. It had taken a little effort to convince Marie to stay at the club and wait for news, but he had managed. He also had asked the local constable to keep an eye on the area, but he knew better than to hold out much hope.

 

"You think she's going to hurt that boy?"

 

"Yes." He felt impotent to stop it and it enraged him. "They are going to kill him."

 

"They?"

 

"I can't tell you about it Lily, I'm sorry. Duw. Now I know how Gwen must have felt trying to talk to me."

 

"It's all right, Andy." She started to leave, then turned back. "You're going to leave, aren't you?"

 

"What in the world are you talking about?"

 

"Leave the force. Join Torchwood. The rest of us don't really want to know what they do, Andy. Some of the things they deal with… but for you? It's like cream to my cat."

 

He watched her leave, stunned. He hadn't given himself the chance to think about it, at least not consciously, but it had been in the back of his mind the whole time. Lily, in her usual blunt fashion, had yanked it out into the open.

 

He pulled out the ID and phone Jack had given him. The ID had his name, a recent photo, and a narrow barcode strip running along the bottom. Over it all floated a holographic image of the Torchwood logo.

 

Suddenly he remembered something Jack had said. He fitted the earbud of the phone into his ear and tapped it once.

 

"Cop Boy," John Hart's sardonic voice answered before the phone even rang. "What can I do for you?"

 

"Jack says I can have access to the mainframe?"

 

"You sure can. Just slide your id card into the slot on the left hand side of the phone, hologram up. But since you're here with me, metaphorically speaking, what would you like to know?"

 

"I need to correlate two people's routines, see if they frequented the same places, ate at the same restaurants, that sort of thing. I don't have time to do it through channels. Can the mainframe do that?"

 

"Cop Boy, that's insulting. My baby can do that while you brush your teeth. Give me names and NI numbers."

 

Andy read out the information. "Call me when you get something."

 

"Cop Boy," Hart said in a long-suffering tone. "You just stay on the line for a minute. So, are you coming over to the dark side?"

 

"Huh?"

 

"Jack and Gwen both want you, you know. We need a good cop around here, Gwen's too busy keeping the idiots in line. Hold on… here it is. Your guys, who, by the way, got killed by a tzax'unu… ugly way to go, that… made several purchases at a shop called Lady Fair." He gave Andy the address. "Not exactly a great neighbourhood."

 

"Thanks, Hart. I'll…"

 

His door smashed against the wall. Andy looked up to see Keightley burst in, looking like a prime candidate for an instant heart-attack. Andy repeated his thanks to Hart and closed the connection.

 

"Davidson! What the hell is going on?"

 

"Sir?"

 

"The Chief Constable says you've been assigned to Torchwood."

 

"It would seem so, sir."

 

"I won't have it! Those bastards can shovel their own shit."

 

At that moment Andy realized that he had already made his decision. He smiled gently at Keightley. "You will have what Torchwood decides that you will. Now, excuse me. I have work to do."

 

Andy spent the ride to Lady Fair wondering what the hell would happen to his life now. He had burnt his bridges with a vengeance in a single sentence. He realized he had been hooked like a trout, and Jack Harkness was holding the rod. He should have been feeling terrified; instead he felt exhilarated.

 

As he got out of the car, he saw Jack and John Hart waiting. The Torchwood leader pointed to a narrow alleyway leading down to the river. "Lady at the shop says Hannah Applegate lives in a bed-sit in that old place at the end of the lane. Both Jones and Gardiner bought her presents regularly. She saw Hannah come home early today with a new boy. She remembers particularly because they both looked drunk and reeked of perfume."

 

"Holding my hand, Jack?"

 

"Backing up a teammate. I have someone on the other side of the river, too."

 

The three men set out down the alleyway. It was a dingy sort of place, with old houses crowded into narrow spaces. The early evening shadows were broken here and there by dim light bulbs over doorways and by a solitary lamp post marking the place where the lane met the river.

 

"There they are," pointed Hart.

 

Hannah and Alan were staggering towards the river. The girl was half-carrying the boy and they both weaved about unsteadily. As they reached the lamp post, Andy could see that Alan's face was slack, as if he were drugged, but Hannah looked haggard and old, her skin nearly translucent and her lips drawn back over her teeth. She spoke to the air above the river in a dreadful whine.

 

"Feed me. He's here, come eat, feed me. Feed me!"

 

The thing that erupted out of the water was a travesty of a woman. The body was out of proportion, too long, too thick, and too narrow. The overall effect was one of a dreadful and lethal otherness. It hovered over the two, streaming liquid that seemed to hiss and retreat as it touched them.

 

Andy ran, ignoring Jack's calls. The tzax'unu had started to fold around Alan. The boy was moaning softly and his body was twitching rhythmically. Hannah seemed to be mirroring his movements in an obscene parody. The water dripping from the alien had thickened into red-tinged mucus.

 

Not giving himself a chance to think, Andy barreled into the tzax'unu. It began to keen as it felt itself being propelled away from the boy and back towards the river. The sound was echoed by Hannah. She made a grab for Andy, but the combined momentum of the two bodies was too much. She lost her footing and crashed into the lamp post.

 

As he went into the water, Andy tried to push away from the tzax'unu, but it had wrapped itself around him as it had done to Alan. He felt something burn into his sides that reminded him of being stung by a portuguese man-of-war as a child. He thrashed about, trying to find his bearings in the murky water, but he could feel himself getting weaker as the filaments holding him tightened.

 

Suddenly, he felt the alien jerk away. Even underwater Andy could hear its high keen of pain. A beam of light impaled it, and as it twisted away, a second beam caught it on the other side. Each time it tried to escape, the light stabbed it. Andy turned towards the source of the light… and nearly took a deep breath out of pure shock.

 

She was glorious. The shoulder-length curls had turned into a flaming red mass that floated down to her waist. Her legs seemed to be encased in translucent webbing that began below her breasts and ended in a powerful fluke. She carried something that looked like a spear gun but fired the pure light that had the tzax'unu thrashing in agony.

 

Andy tried to swim towards her, but his lungs felt as if they were bursting. He felt a touch on his shoulders and turned to see Hart, who motioned him upwards. Andy shook his head, but Hart simply clasped him firmly about the waist and propelled him out of the water and into Jack's waiting hands.

 

"We might as well start your education right now, Andy." Jack said as he pulled him onto dry land. "Torchwood rule number one: only Jack gets to be reckless."

 

Andy disregarded that piece of information with the contempt he felt it deserved. Still gasping for air, he blurted out, "Jack, there are mermaids in Wales."

 

Jack roared with laughter. "Something like that, anyway. Here they come."

 

Hart and Marie came out of the water dragging the body of the tzax'unu between them. Andy noticed that the webbing seemed to dissolve as Marie's body met the air, and left her magnificently…nude. He snapped his fingers at Jack.

 

"Your coat."

 

Still laughing, Jack took it off and handed it over. Andy wrapped it around Marie's shoulders. She smiled and leaned against him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.

 

"Andy, may I introduce… well, neither of us could really pronounce her name, so it will have to remain Marie, Keltheldra of the Khleil. Her people came through the Rift more than six hundred years ago." Jack grinned at the couple. "Welcome to Torchwood, Andy. Welcome to Torchwood."

**Author's Note:**

> The Gwragedd Annwn are the females of the elfin species inhabiting Wales. They live under rivers and lakes. I don't really know if there are any in the Taff, but please, do not disillusion me.


End file.
